specifythepoint (
specifythepoint) wrote in
capeandcowllogs2011-11-03 09:14 pm
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Entry tags:
- † !—dropped characters—! †,
- † arthur | arthur,
- † carol danvers | captain marvel,
- † eames | the forger,
- † hikaru sulu | lieutenant badass,
- † jim kirk | n/a,
- † nina sayers | i'm the swan queen!!,
- † olivia dunham | n/a,
- † selina kyle | catwoman,
- † sherlock holmes | the consultant,
- † tom marvolo riddle | lord voldemort,
- † vic sage | the question
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WHO: The Dreamers; Inception crew + Arthur
WHERE: The Dreaming
WHEN: Thursday the 3rd and ongoing for a few days, until Arthur wakes up.
WARNINGS: Please warn in thread subjects!
SUMMARY: Arthur's powers go out of control, and the innocent (?) cityzens are affected.
FORMAT: As you like it! Please label your threads if they're open for other dreamers or just specific characters!
WHERE: The Dreaming
WHEN: Thursday the 3rd and ongoing for a few days, until Arthur wakes up.
WARNINGS: Please warn in thread subjects!
SUMMARY: Arthur's powers go out of control, and the innocent (?) cityzens are affected.
FORMAT: As you like it! Please label your threads if they're open for other dreamers or just specific characters!
open ; dead bodies and probably violence
Everything is ridiculously detailed, and in a strange way, the details seem to jump out - as if their importance suddenly doubles or triples. Suddenly even the most unobservant person MUST notice them, and then they disappear into the background again.
Sherlock is standing over the corpse of a woman, eyes running over every detail. She's obviously been killed violently, huge running gashes running up her side and her face, the blood pooled around her. Sherlock is staring down at the wounds, before he sweeps his jacket back and leans down to press gloved fingers next to one of them.
Images start to flash around him - wound patterns and the weapons associated with them, as if he is running a list through his head and projecting it around him. One of the images flashes - a bread knife with a long, serrated blade. He smirks to himself.
In the background stands Lestrade and Donovan. Donovan is arguing with Lestrade about letting Sherlock onto the crime scene, but their voices are strangely muted and far away, because Sherlock isn't paying attention to them.]
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Arthur clamps down on the dream, but he can't find the way out, even though he feels the fabric of the dream strain against him. There's another moment, tense, and Lestrade turns and snaps, "Damn kids."]
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He stands, watching the boy run. The crime scene was closed. How did he get through the barricade, unless - his eyes widen. Obvious. Obvious. He must have been there the whole time. Possibly even through the killing...
The first eyewitness to the serial killer.
He takes off after the boy at a run.]
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But even then he's no match for Sherlock, who has longer legs.]
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As he caught up to the boy, the scene was changing, and Holmes was getting younger. It was almost Oxford, now, in the fall, and he grass was turning brown - the bloodied footprints standing out like a neon beacon. His breath was turning into a fine white mist as he reached an arm out to stop the boy.]
Stop! Wait --
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I'm going to be in trouble.
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Not if you tell me what you saw.
[And as it comes to mind, images of the killings spring up around him. Body after body - maybe a half dozen total, strangely fuzzy for the most part but with intense, stand out detail where Sherlock has pinpointed what is important. There's something about these bodies - they aren't entirely dreams. They're memories of a case long lost. Cold but still nagging at the back of Sherlock's mind.
His gaze is intense, and piercing.]
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It's just a projection of Arthur at age 10. But Arthur is too far, and the boy is replying already]
He came out of the vent.
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His eyes dart back to the boy.]
The Vent? You're sure?
But how did he -
[Suddenly John is there - not the real John, a projection - and he has his cane, leaning on it heavily. He gives Sherlock a dark look.]
What on earth are you doing?
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[The boy stares up at John, then back at Sherlock, and then he looks down, away. Whatever this is, it's none of his business.
Arthur shows up a moment later, pulling his projection away.]
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There's a flicker of recognition across his face and Oxford shifts slightly, as if the grass is now in central park... But he can't quite link the face to a name, though he knows he should - knows he could - but it just isn't there.
Something nagging at the back of his brain... fanfiction...?]
I - but he couldn't have, it was too small. Are you sure that you saw... [But he was frowning, his voice trailing off, and they were fully in Central Park, now.]
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Do you usually listen to the words of ten year olds?
[At least this man's subconscious isn't on the warpath]
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Children are often a much more reliable witness. [But the case isn't solved and Watson is looking at him quizzically and there are seven deaths, now, and only one lead. The footprints are still there, blood blazing a trail into the trees, and all Sherlock wants is to be able to concentrate.]
You would know if he was lying. You would remember.
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sorry for same-iconing this but ;;
<3
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hello!
Tom pauses not far from the scene, blending into the background well but not quite well enough--his clothes are too old fashioned. He wouldn't usually care about something like this, but the amount of detail has caught his interest, not to mention the images (some sort of mind magic? completely inefficient if that was the case).
The smart thing to do was leave, really; police generally didn't take kindly to civilians interrupting an investigation. But instead, Tom took a few more steps to get a better look, his shoes audibly scuffing against the pavement.]
:3 why hallo there. So this is before the log with Arthur.
Come on, nothing to see here. Move along.
[But then Sherlock looks up and there's something different because he can't immediately place the boy's clothes. The images around him flicker as he looks at the boy and finally fade out. Instead, details start jumping out around Tom, becoming bright and clear.]
Wait. [To Lestrade, of course. Sherlock stands, eyes narrowing, and crosses the pool of blood without disturbing it.
Lestrade shrugs, and steps away.]
got it! :3
He shifts casually, hands resting in the pockets of his coat, one loosely gripping his wand. He looks for all the world like he just stepped out of the 1940s and his appearance is immaculate; his clothes are well taken care of and there are only a couple scuffs on his shoes.
And the polite look on his face is well practised, almost perfect.] I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stopped. I didn't mean to interrupt.
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The details around Tom are bright and clear - the exact type of stitching in the shoes and around the pockets, the type of fabric and the exact colour dye...
A small counter appears beside Sherlock's head, with the year 2010, until it starts working backwards. It ends at 1940s with a '?' beside it. The words almost immediately fade after they appear.
Sherlock was right to be curious.]
It's only natural for an intelligent young man to be interested. [His low baritone voice was charming.]
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Sherlock gets a very mechanical smile for the compliment--he does hear it very often, and while he likes to hear it, any regular person would grow tired of it after a time.]
I think many people would be. [His gaze flicks briefly back at the dead woman.] Do you know what happened?
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Images of six other murders float up around him like ghostly reflections - each different but then there are patterns, highlighted and glowing - that follow each of them.]
Of course.
[A small smirk. He isn't the world's greatest detective for nothing.]
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If Tom were a better person, he would point it out. The man didn't seem aware of it (a backfired spell?). And he couldn't quite keep himself from looking, however briefly.]
Of course. [He smiles apologetically and shrugs a bit.] I suppose that wouldn't be something you could share. Not in an ongoing investigation.
Still, it's good to see the police have someone so competent on their payroll. [Only not really. That is dangerous.]
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But Sargeant Sally Donovan is getting tired with him - she didn't want him here in the first place and she's coming over with a very annoyed, exasperated look on her face.
Hey, Freak, you're wasting all our time here. [The statement could have been made to either of them, only Sally's eyes are locked on Sherlock.]
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His polite smile falters a bit she the woman walks over, and his eyes briefly gain a very hard look at that word. It's gone soon enough, since it wasn't directed at him, but for that moment, it's clear it's not a word he's fond of hearing.]
I suppose I should go, then. Seeing as I shouldn't have stopped in the first place.
[Not that he really wants to, especially not now, but he has to keep up the act.]
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[He opens his mouth to reply, but Donovan is already cutting off.
Yes. I think you should. This is an active crime scene, and Mr. Holmes here is already enough of a burden.
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And in an instant, he is completely ignoring the woman. He's still pretty incredulous, since it was just a surname, but, well, he is a wizard, and one determined to make the impossible possible at that. He does try to keep most of that off his face.]
Holmes? Is Dr Watson nearby as well? [If this wasn't him, it should seem like a cute joke, one he'd undoubtedly heard before. But if it was...]
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His voice has lost it's practiced charm when he speaks, and comes out ice cold.]
And how, exactly, do you know Dr. Watson?
[Outside of the dream he's used to people making the connection - but here it's still London, even if it's a London with a John in it, unlike at home.]
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